Service
by Delateed
Summary: Boss Wolf didn't often dwell on his thoughts.


It was a tiring, menial task to work under the perpetually cold gaze of Lord Shen.

There were definitely occasions when Boss Wolf had to dump all of his limited self-control into not attacking the genocidal peacock, to restrain himself from swiping his meticulously sharpened claws across his so-dubbed master's tastefully exposed thorax. The result would've been messy, but it would've gotten the job done. Yet, still, he served.

He served with the dedication and unfaltering loyalty one could usually expect from his particular species.

The possibility for him to challenge Shen existed. Boss Wolf was all too aware of that. Whilst extravagant displays of social dominance weren't frequent occurrences in wolf packs, situation-based tussles were still eligible to break loose, and he had grown weary of his current position and disdainful mistreatment a long while ago. In fact, the very notion of ridding Shen from his metaphorical high horse never failed to fill him with giddy exhilaration.

But however strong the urge to rebel may expand, Boss Wolf had his conscience set on shoving it back down, back to the deepest reaches of his mind from where it stemmed from, because some small, bitter part of him knew that he couldn't defeat Shen in a fight, mental or physical.

And so, he settled for grumbling his inner turmoil beneath his breath, where they would remain safe from potential eavesdrop. "'Year of the peacock'," he snorted, pacing irritably around the wooden platform with the distant, fruitless tune of heavy hammering from the factory appropriately accompanying his chagrin.

The sound of unsteady footfalls reached his ears, but Boss Wolf hardly paid them any attention. He was accustomed to his comrades' subtle yet routine tomfoolery.

The footfalls ceased. "Hey," offered a low, casually strained baritone.

A single glance over his shoulder presented him with the sight of a gangling pair of wolves, both standing with their eyes shut and their mouths curiously agape, fixed into twin broad, almost unnervingly happy grins. He decided not to question it.

Instead, Boss Wolf responded in kind, and as the two wolves lumbered awkwardly off, his sense of injustice rose even more, so suddenly and violently that it balled up in the base of his throat, refusing to budge. He, along with his pack, were once guards of Gongmen City's royal palace, but there was always an air of suspicion whenever they happened to be around. They were never truly accepted within the community. Not like the herbivores. Not like the omnivores, either.

They were wolves, and they were simultaneously feared and looked down upon, written off as nothing past obedient thugs that only made their presence known in the midst of a scuffle that needed halting.

Boss Wolf had pledged his allegiance to Shen simply due to the respect and equal fairness the peacock had shown in his earlier years. There used to be trust, along with something else; something that perhaps used to stretch as far as close companionship. At one specific point, he indistinctly recalled being protective of him, a feeling he probably couldn't muster up now if he bothered to try. Now, the respect he so craved was gone, replaced once again by dismissive contempt.

Whom he presented his reinforcements to had changed, but if overlooked, he might as well had stayed at his previous job. At least back then, he didn't get addressed as 'dog' every five or so minutes, which, frankly, came off as a little specist.

More footfalls, weightier and louder. "You! Where are you going?" One of the gorillas, no doubt. "On your feet, and wipe those stupid grins off your faces."

Boss Wolf took no joy in what he did.

He sneered, scoffed and laughed, but those were all just necessary means to make his opponents lose confidence and weaken, making them fall into the belief that he was in control, thus consequently rendering them easier to dispatch. He followed the orders he was given and sent his comrades out to risk their lives in combat while Shen hung back, savouring the destruction they wreaked from the comfort of the sidelines, dancing just on the edge of harm's desperate grasp only to spring away if it came too close.

Boss Wolf hadn't _really_ wanted to wipe out an entire village of plush, cuddly, super soft and seemingly harmless farmers. Of course, that wasn't to suggest that he was wholly innocent, as he'd still committed to it and even attempted to pounce on a young cub with an intent to kill, but a panda massacre wasn't exactly scribbled across his daily to-do list before Shen had decidedly strutted into the picture, rambling on about prophecies and soothsayers.

Before he quite finished processing his train of thought, Boss Wolf heard the factory doors open, followed not long after by a resounding yell and the slightly louder chorus of steel clanging against numerous hard surfaces as their wielders continually missed their intended targets.

The game was up.

Growling, Boss Wolf dashed to retrieve his warmaul, jumping straight into the general location of the fray as his comrades crowded around him, pushing him further towards his goal.

The two-handed weapon felt reassuringly familiar in his hands, like he was gripping a part of an old and precious friend – a concept he was admittedly inexperienced with – and as vivid orange-and-black fur flashed across his field of vision in the crimson-hued factory, Boss Wolf raised his warmaul over his head, stubbornly ignoring the building apprehension eating away at his chest.

Because the only thing he was certain he could do was serve, and that was just what he was going to accomplish.


End file.
